Critic
by SarahGailCotton
Summary: Kenneth struggles with his self-hatred of himself, finding that he hurts the people around him and that he constantly feels guilty and paranoid. While living in poverty with his drunken mother and obsessive father, something horrible happened when things were supposed to get better. Now, Kenneth can't forget, and refuses to forgive his father... and himself.


So, before you begin reading, I would like to clarify a few things. This story will not be written in normal chapters. I am doing this by season, starting with summer, and each piece of the story uploaded will have three sections. I don't rightfully know why I chose to do it this way, but I like it. I think it'll help with setting and time.

Also, sorry if there are a lot of typos. When I read/write, I tend to skip words, so proof-reading is hard for me. However, I'm not lazy; I do go back over what I write and fix what I see.

Lastly, this is centered around Regular Show OCs and 1-Episode Characters (ex. CJ, Jeremy, Chad, Dave, etc. ) There won't be many obvious characters. I don't even see Mordecai and Rigby making a lot of appearances, but Muscle Man and High Five Ghost will play a role in the story, as well as Benson.

Thank you!

- SUMMER -

One.

I had just been fired from my previous job. My manager was a total asshole and didn't understand that he was in charge of a grocery store, not a Nazi interment camp. I didn't really care, however. I was worried about money, sure, but I still had some saved up and the rent on my apartment was caught up for the rest of the month. I could find a job and get on with my life.

Only, I've searched everywhere. It's a small city, but the population is way over its limit. If you don't have a job, you're just plain unlucky. Got here too late or lost one job with no other slots open, like me. I've been walking around town for almost the entire day, and still no luck. The sun is assaulting me, sending heated bullets right through my skull. Sweat is matting my fur and I am pretty sure I am going blind. I stumble along, sleeves rolled up to my shoulders and eyes lidded heavier than usual. I stop myself after hearing a little kid laughing at whatever, and turn to take a seat on a bench.

Now what? I never had this much trouble finding a job, but I came from a small town with an even smaller population. Finding a job wasn't that hard there. It was mostly farmland and the fields were usually even bigger than the town itself, so there was always a job needing to be done. But here, I'm screwed. I finished high school but never went to college, and the only jobs I see open are for big companies and guys wearing suits. You need a college education for that kind of stuff. Hell, I barely remember what my Algebra teachers told me.

I look down to the damp newspaper in my hands, the ink having been smeared here and there from my own sweat. I am tempted to just rip it up and walk home naked; the heat is that awful. I sigh in frustration and poke a small hole in the corner of the paper with my claw, then another and a few more, making a smiley face. Another sigh and I lean back against the seat. A nice breeze hits me, and I close my eyes. Something wheezes and sputters, then shrieks to a stop. I don't open my eyes. Then, after a few moments, a hand touches my shoulder, and I jolt up. My own hand smacks at the offending person's arm, and we stare at each other for a long time. Very awkward, very startling. The man, more like boy, smiles at me for a split second, then points to the newspaper.

"Do you need a job?"

Two.

It was a garage for garbage trucks. It smelled disgusting.

A heavy stench, really strong. Sweat, trash, gasoline, oil. All that nasty smelling stuff than makes your eyes water and your nose hairs catch fire. But it was a job and I needed it.

I sit in an old leather chair that feels more like rubber. The man that owns the garage is overweight, but actually appears to be a lot cleaner than I expected. He obviously enjoys this job, seeing as there were traces of his fanaticism around the office. Seven little trophies lined the top of his shelf, stating way-too-proudly that he was the Garbage Man of the Year, seven years in a row. Motivational posters for garbage men took up most of the walls. Even his tie had little garbage trucks on it.

His name is Mr. Joseph McCab, but he tells me to call him "Joey."

"You look like a trust-worthy young man," he says, tapping a chipped pencil on his desk. I suddenly feel awkward, and I shift around in my seat. He smiles. Crooked teeth, all yellow and one silver. Bleh.

"Do you have any experience in this business?"

"Not really," I say. "I used to take out the trash when I was a kid."

Joey laughs. Those teeth. I might vomit. He stands and yanks up his pants high, then turns to face the window behind his desk. More overweight men are cleaning garbage trucks and going through crates of parts for those trucks. Joey watches them work diligently and grins. "No one seems to take this job seriously unless they work here," he says with a slight whisper. "These men face dangers any doctor faces every day, and under horrible conditions, but the government only allows me to pay them just a little over minimum wage."

I don't want this job anymore.

"Bacteria, germs, disease, fumes... It's all there, boy. Hell, when I was still pickin' up the cans, I was mauled by a possum!" He turns and points to a scar on the side of his face. Ew. "But I didn't give up. Cities have to be clean, boy."

"I agree." I stand and look out the window briefly, then start to turn and head out the door, but he says something else.

"You're hired."

I stop, shoes suddenly filled with cement. He didn't even really give me a proper interview, and I'm hired? Just like that? I turn to him, and he's smiling. It's different, though. It's not creeping me out. It's almost gentle and fatherly. Kind.

"When my son told me you needed a job, I was unsure. But I feel like I know everything about you just from you sitting in that chair." Joey walks around his desk and places his hand on my shoulder, giving it a good squeeze. "You've been through a lot, haven't you?"

I look down.

Joey's son is named Jacob. Very timid, very awkward. He doesn't even have a partner because he has Social Anxiety Disorder. S.A.D. Very sad, Poor Jacob. But, for whatever reason, he says he's willing to work with me. His father allows this, obviously happy to see his son wanting to work with someone. Maybe now he'll get more work done and a lot faster. Jacob runs me through the parts of the truck.

The big part on the back that holds all the junk is called the hopper. The big part in the big part on the back that shoves all the junk aside is called the packer blade. He shows me the corresponding levers and buttons. Joey stands at a distance, proud of his son and happy that he has a new employee. I glance back at him, then turn my attention to Jacob. They look nothing alike, except for the hair color. Jacob actually looks feminine. Very lanky and lithe. He must get his looks from his mother. Why am I paying attention to this?

"So that's everything," says Jacob. He hops off the side of the truck with a smile and looks at me expectantly. I nod, confirming I had listened. Joey claps behind us and steps forward. "Good, good," he says, then puts one hand on my shoulder and the other on Jacob's. "How about we let Kenneth go for a quick test-run?"

I was given my uniform, which looks more like what the convicts who were given community service wear when they pick up trash on the side of the road. An orange jumpsuit and yellow rubber gloves that almost reach up to my elbows. Oh, and heavy black boots that feel like I have bricks strapped to my feet. Fun.

The test-run is just letting me get the idea of working as a garbage man. We were given another person's route for the afternoon, and so far, I've done well. Last pick-up was at a grocery store, and not the one I used to work at. I silently thank whatever god is up there. That would suck. Gets fired from grocery store, works as garbage man who picks up same grocery store's trash. Humiliating. Either way, we hop out of the truck and I move towards the trash cans. The trash doesn't stink as bad as I thought. It's mostly old fruits and vegetables. Must be an organic grocery store. I lift up one can when Jacob speaks.

"Why don't you lift up two?" What?

"Because they're heavy," I say. Jacob frowns.

"But, you can lift one with each arm if you hold them up next to your shoulders." I ignore him. It's too heavy and I stink something awful. I don't really care. He keeps pestering me about it through, whispering meekly about how it would go a lot faster if I just lifted two cans. Two damn cans. He keeps talking and talking until I finally get annoyed and turn to tell him to shut up. The can I am currently holding slips from my grasp and, bam, trash everywhere. All over the side of the street. I groan and step onto the sidewalk, watching some green juice spill out and expand. Jacob frowns deeply, brows dipped and knitted together. He looks at me, and I glare.

"This isn't my fault," I say. "If you would have just kept quiet, I wouldn't have lost my focus."

"I was just trying to help," he says. I growl and he steps back against the truck. My eyes dart from him to the trash and back to him. I figure I might as well clean it up, so I bend over and start grabbing what I can. A long push-broom with rubber bristles invades my eyesight, and I see Jacob holding it out for me while he holds another. I stand and snatch the broom, then give him a push back towards the truck, watching him stumble backwards. "I don't need your help," I say, more like shout. He looks down, lidding his eyes and biting his lower lip.

There it is. I hate this feeling. I feel bad, and it pisses me off.

"Stop looking so fucking sad! If you had just left me alone, I wouldn't have dropped the trash can! It's your fault, so wipe that look off your face!" He stares at me for a second, and I swear he's about to cry, but then he looks over my shoulder. I snap around to see a girl standing behind us. Her hands are up defensively, large ears drawn back against her head. She has long black hair, and is wearing clothes that scream "hippie." She smiles nervously and takes a step back.

"Whoooa," she says. "I am sensing some negative energy, here."

"Shut up," I mumble. This isn't any of her business. I use the broom to shove the trash into the can, then dump that trash into the hopper. The girl presses her lips together. I walk past her and grab the next can, completely ignoring her. Well, almost completely. I'm so pissed I give her a glare or two. She squints and looks to Jacob, who is staring back at the ground. She turns her attention back to me. "You're a lion," she says almost cheerfully.

"No shit," I mumble, throwing trash into the hopper.

"We don't see a lot of lions here, but my mom used to always tell me they're really grouchy."

"Your mom's a racist." I emptied the last can and slammed it on the sidewalk. I look at Jacob and he flinches, then climbs into the truck. I slide into the passenger's side, and I glare at the girl while she stares up at me with an expression I can't quite read. I roll down the window and lean my head out just slightly. "You're a jackal."

"A-ah! Yeah, I am!"

"My dad used to tell me that jackals are really irritating and brainless. Looks like he was right."

She blinks, still smiling. The truck coughs and wheezes, and we drive off, leaving the girl to stand alone on the sidewalk. I look in the side-view mirror and see her watching us leave. Her smile has been replaced with a flat line, and her brows have arched downward. I turn the mirror so that I can't see her.

Three.

Jacob lied for me.

He told Joey everything went smoothly, and that I'd be a great garbage man. It pissed me off and made me want to kick myself in the nads. Joey gave me two uniforms, one for just-in-case, and a schedule for my route with Jacob. Even after I was a dick to him, Jacob said he still wanted me to be his partner. The guilt increased and made my chest hurt. I didn't apologize, though. My tongue had tied itself up into a secure knot when I looked at him. He gave me a soft smile, then went to work cleaning the truck. I wanted to scream at him, but I couldn't. I wanted to apologize, but I turned and walked away, heading home.

The water wouldn't heat up, as usual, so I took a cold shower and headed straight for bed. I don't remember ever being this tired. My hands go through the usual nightly routine, grabbing the covers and pulling them over myself and turning off the lamp, then cracking the window just slightly so the room won't get too hot. The blinds are drawn all the way up so there is some light in the room from the moon. The pillow is fluffed then folded, its a thin pillow, and I let my head fall onto it. I close my eyes and after what seems like hours, I fall asleep.

I really hate the dark. I can't see anything. I get scared and I try to run but to where? There is no where to go. Something could get me. Something could hurt me. If I don't know what it is, how can I fight it? How can I protect myself?

I really hate the dark. I sit down and try to coil up like a snake. I try to shield myself. I lay in a fetal position. Something will get me. Maybe if I play dead, it will leave me alone. I tell it to leave me alone. "Go away. Get lost." It won't listen. It never does. "Don't hurt me." It never listens. It hurts me. My chest tightens up and I can't breathe and I'm scared and I don't wanna be left alone here and it hurts.

So I scream.

And that always helps.

Because I wake up, and in the morning, everything is better. I can see when it's morning. I look around the room and breathe heavily. My head falls back down onto the pillow.

Everything is better in the morning.


End file.
